Eighteen (18) (3 page)

“He’s…” I look over at Bowman. “Good to you?”

“We tolerate each other.”

“And the baby?”

I nod and take another drag. “She’s sweet. I love her.”

“He’s doing OK with her?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask, getting pissed. “I’m not a chatty girl, Bowman. And I’m private. So if you’ve got a question, don’t beat around the bush. Just ask, and if I want to answer, I will.”

“Is he taking care of her, Shannon? We had a meeting about you when you first registered. So everyone knows your situation. And I was asked today to find things out. I’m pretty sure you’re a girl who can take care of herself. But a three-month-old baby is something else entirely. If you need help in that area, I want you to come to me. Understand?”

I take another drag of my cigarette and blow rings. “He’s doing as well as any guy would if their wife OD’d and left them with an infant. She’s in daycare and he works his ass off to pay for it, so that’s why he can’t take off work to cart my ass around. And besides,” I say, suddenly feeling very tired, “as you pointed out this morning, I’m eighteen now. So I’m just lucky he lets me stay at the apartment.”

We pull into a parking lot and Bowman stops the car. “OK, just checking. I’ll wait and drive you home if you want.”

I grab my pack and open the door. “No, thanks. I can hitchhike.” And then I slam the door and walk off.

Nosy-ass bastard.

Please, God,
I say, feeling my Catholic upbringing coming out.
Just give me a break in here. It’s my birthday. I deserve at least one break.

Chapter Three

“Mr. Bowman called about you.”

“I bet he did,” I say dryly.

“We weren’t going to have any trig classes this semester, but he put in for a special request for you before Christmas.”

“He did?” Jesus Christ. The fucker’s been looking out for me.

“Yes,” the older woman says from across the counter. “Now here’s your official schedule.” She holds it out, pointing. “You owe three hundred and fifty dollars.”

“What?”

“Sorry, let me explain. Normally you
would
owe three hundred and fifty dollars, but Mr. Bowman got your fee waived this afternoon. It takes a few weeks for that to come in. So if you get a bill in the mail, just ignore it.” She smiles at me.

“OK, thank you,” I say, taking my schedule and exhaling a long breath. I guess if Bowman has anything to say about it, I’ll get that diploma after all. “I’ll be back—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the secretary says, just as I’m about to make my big break. “Since the trig class is by special arrangement, you have to set up your schedule with Mr. Alesci. He’s down the hallway in room twenty-one. So go do that and then you’re free.”

She gives me this motherly smile and I wonder how much Bowman told her about me. It’s not like I give a shit if people know my sister was a loser who OD’d. I just hate the idea that people are discussing me. It feels like an invasion of privacy.

A crack of thunder scares the both of us and we jump, looking at each other with wide eyes.

“Rainy season,” she says.

“Great.” I get to look forward to waiting for the bus in the rain. “Which way is twenty-one?”

“Right down there, sweetheart.” She points to a grungy hallway off to the left.

“Thanks.” I hike my backpack over my shoulder and walk off.

Twenty-one is the last classroom on the left and the door is closed. There’s a small window, but all I see are empty desks.

I open the door and walk in to find a man in a suit looking down at some papers on the desk in the front of the room.

“Hey, I’m Shannon Drake. I’m here to set up a time for trig class.”

He looks up and all I see are those green eyes from the counseling office this morning. It takes my breath away for a moment. I’m shocked.

“I thought you were gonna ditch me, Shannon.”

Just hearing this gorgeous man say my name sends a tingle through my body. “Um…”

“We’ve met, remember? The counseling office this morning.”

“But you weren’t…”

“Looking very professional this morning. I know. Sorry. I didn’t expect to see my only student.” He gives me a small smile and then leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck like he hasn’t a care in the world.

His white dress shirt stretches across his muscled chest. And yes, it’s muscled because I can see the outline of his pecs through the fabric. He looks almost as delicious dressed up as a teacher as he did as a biker.

“So,” he says, releasing his relaxed pose and grabbing a pen from the desk. “Have a seat and let’s see how much work we have to do.”

I let out a long breath and he averts his eyes and pretends not to notice that I’m nervous and flustered.

I walk forward to the one chair pulled up to the opposite side of the table that acts as a desk. I set my backpack down and pull the chair out, taking a seat. But the table is not that wide and my foot bumps against his when I settle.

I quickly move my feet back and look down so he can’t see my blush.
Jesus. Get a hold of yourself, Shannon.

“So how much do you remember?”

“What?”

“Geometry? I heard you this morning saying it’s not your thing. So how much of it
was
your thing?”

I swallow. “Um…”

“That much?”

I shake my head to clear my mind and blurt. “None of it. I cheated.”

He bursts out laughing.

“I mean, I didn’t cheat for real. But I cheated because I didn’t learn a thing. I only memorized things for the tests, and then I went out and partied that night, and then the shit flew right out of my brain with the pot smoke.”

Oh. My. God. What the hell did I just say?
Filter, Shannon. Filter.

His smile grows. “Well, we have our work cut out for us.”

“Look, I really don’t belong in this class, OK? I’m terrible at math. I don’t understand why I can’t just take some stupid lower math to get that credit.”

He looks down at his paperwork, which to my horror I realize is my file. My fucking file. This hot motherfucker who dresses like a biker and a teacher in the same day has been reading about me.

“Well, you took all AP classes in ninth and tenth grade. Why would we assume you’re not smart enough to move forward?”

“Right, but that was two years ago. This is twelfth grade.”

He leans back in his chair again, like I’m about to tell him a story and he’s interested.

“I don’t know why I was put in those AP classes, OK? I’m really not that smart, but most importantly, I’m really not that motivated.”

He looks down at my file again and taps it. “Then how did you get an A in AP Biology?” When he looks up, I can tell his mood is changing. He’s going from biker who thinks I’m funny to teacher who thinks I’m lying.

“Biology was different.”

“How so?”

“Um…” Holy fuck.
Why? Why me, God? It’s my birthday and you can’t cut me one fucking break?

“I mean,” he continues, “it’s not easy. So how was it different?”

“I liked it, I guess. And biology made sense. Math does not make sense.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here with me, Shannon.” He doesn’t say my name. He growls it. “So maybe you just never had the right teacher.”

And then his legs stretch out under the table and rub up against mine.

I have my feet pulled all the way under my chair, so even if I wanted to escape his touch, I can’t. So I just sit there, imagining his biker boots as they press up against my Chucks, and pretend it’s not happening.

I take a deep breath and exhale. He either takes the hint that I’m overwhelmed, or he didn’t even notice in the first place. But either way, he pulls his legs back and the excitement I felt recedes.

“OK, well, you’re stuck here. Bowman made it very clear that you need this class to graduate and we’ve got a lot to cover in one semester. In fact, you should not expect to graduate in the spring. You’ll probably get your diploma at the end of the summer.”

“What?” Oh, my God. For real, I’m gonna cry now.

“Well,” he says, leaning back and placing his hands behind his neck again, “you said you’re not motivated so I’m going to assume you’re not lying about that. You’ll be super lazy and you won’t do the work.”

I look down and wring my hands in my lap. I wish I could go back one year and decide never to go to California with Jill. I should’ve just stayed where I was. Maybe asked one of my friends if their parents would let me hang out for a year and a half until graduation. I could’ve worked at Jackie’s dad’s Harley shop. Or done secretary work for Ronnie’s boss at the welding shop. Jesus, in what world is fuck-up Ronnie my saving grace?

This one, Shannon.
It’s funny how people you thought were total losers turn out to be stable and good when you see the real world through the eyes of a castaway teenager for nine months.

“Are you going to do the work, Shannon?”

I can’t even meet his gaze. I just stare at my wringing hands. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice. You can choose to be anything you want. Lazy is easy. Skate, you said this morning. You’ve been skating through life for a while now, haven’t you? You’re so smart you don’t have to study unless you want to. You can get an A on the final and pass the class, so why apply yourself?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” But I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat. I’m really going to cry.

His legs stretch out again, and that feeling from his touch is back. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve been you, Shannon.”

I look up just as the tears stream down my face. “No one has been me, Mr. Alesci.” I growl his name the same way he did mine and it makes him smile. That just pisses me off more. “You have no idea who I am and what I’ve been through.”

“You don’t know me either.”

“Well, I know who you’re not. You’re not Shannon Drake. And I don’t give a flying fuck what that file says. That file isn’t Shannon Drake either.”

“Noted,” he says, ignoring my tears. “If you want to do the work and graduate on time, we meet every day for the rest of the semester.”

“I can’t,” I say, and then I really do start crying. I’m talking sobs. Everything that’s happened to me today—hell, the past nine months—comes pouring out in front of this man who has no right to be asking me these things.

“Why can’t you?” he asks, his voice gentler. Softer. “You’re smart. I can tell.” He reaches for a handkerchief in his suit coat pocket and hands it to me.

I take it and start wiping my face.

“Why can’t you, Shannon?”

I suddenly want to tell him everything. All the bullshit that’s happened to me. But once I let it out, it will never go back in. And I’m not ready for that. I’ll die if that happens.

“Bowman mentioned something about not having a ride. Do you need a ride?”

I picture Bowman driving me to Gilbert every day. All the pressing questions, all the explanations he’ll be probing me for. All the privacy he’ll be invading. “No, that’s not it. I have a ride.”

“Then what?” Alesci asks.

I sniff and get myself together. “Never mind,” I say, standing up and grabbing my backpack. “I’ll be here every day.”

I walk out. No, really, I run out. I run right past the front desk and burst through the doors like something is chasing me and if I stop, I will die.

Chapter Four